Part 17 (1/2)

”I wasn't. I hardly knew her.” Dwight started to move away. ”I came today for the Parkers and for Beth.”

”How are they?”

”How do you think?” Dwight opened the door to his pickup. ”Beth should take some time off, if you ask me, but n.o.body ever does. I could tell 'em a thing or two.” He climbed into the cab and shut the door.

I had asked Dwight. But he hadn't told me anything.

I WAS MORTIFIED. The week seemed to have flown by. I'd completely forgotten to call Rolf back. I couldn't believe it.

”It's this murder story,” I explained in my most abject voice when he called me just before noon. ”I've been so focused on it that my mind has fallen apart.”

”No kidding.”

I couldn't tell if Rolf was being humorous-or acting like Dwight Gould.

”I can leave here before five,” I said.

”Don't.”

”What?”

”I gave the tickets away. I figured you didn't give a d.a.m.n.”

This was our first quarrel. I braced myself. It had been a long time since I'd been involved in a romantic squabble.

”It isn't as if I haven't been thinking about you,” I said in a pleading voice. ”I have.” That much was true. During brief respites from focusing on murder, I'd envisioned Rolf in an abstract sort of way. Not, unfortunately, as the man I was supposed to be meeting in a few hours for a lovers' tryst.

Apparently, the story didn't always come first for Rolf. ”You should never date a journalist,” I said flatly.

”I am a journalist,” Rolf replied in the same tone. ”Maybe I should have stuck to dating myself. I'm always there for me.”

”How mad are you?”

”Mad? I'm not sure that's the right word. Disappointed, hurt, p.i.s.sed off. That covers it, I think. I could throw in disillusioned, but that's probably too strong. Besides, I've never been one for illusions in the first place. I got the impression that you were real.”

”You're not bad at this guilt thing,” I said, my temper flaring up. ”I had enough of Irish Catholic guilt with Tom Cavanaugh. Do I have to put up with Jewish guilt, too?”

”It would appear not,” Rolf said coolly. ”Who's feeling guilty? Not me.”

”Okay,” I said, ”concert or no concert, I'm coming down to see you.”

”I won't be here,” Rolf replied. ”I'm flying to Spokane this afternoon to cover a story.”

”Oh. So you were going to cancel on me, is that it?”

”No. I volunteered this morning to fill in for a sick colleague. You know I usually work the desk, not the field.”

That was the difference between us: Unlike me, Rolf didn't have to chase the news on a regular basis. It came to him. We seemed to have reached an impa.s.se. ”I don't know what to say. I feel miserable.”

”Good. I have to go now. The airport shuttle is picking me up in ten minutes. Goodbye, Emma.”

Rolf hung up before I could say another word.

”Well?” Vida demanded, standing on the threshold of my cubbyhole. ”You look like the pigs ate your little brother. Or, in your case, your big brother. What's wrong?”

I told her. ”I can't believe I forgot,” I finally said. ”Am I so caught up in my work that I don't have time for a real life?”

Vida shrugged. ”He's a man, and you've hurt his vanity. He'll get over it.” She sat down in one of my visitor's chairs. ”I noticed that you dropped in for the funeral, but you didn't stay. What happened?”

I'm convinced that Vida has eyes in the back of her head-or her hat. She takes in every detail, no matter how trivial. Maybe she absorbs it, like osmosis. ”Can we wait to talk about it?” I asked. ”I don't feel very clearheaded right now.”

”Oh, for heaven's sake!” Vida looked up at the ceiling in exasperation. ”You're acting like a teenager! It's a good thing I don't go mooning around whenever Buck and I have a disagreement.”

Given that Buck was a retired air force colonel and almost as strong-minded as Vida, I imagined that their ”disagreements” were frequent. Yet they had been companions for years.

She was right about my adolescent reaction. ”Okay,” I said, and revealed what Toni had told me.

”Well now.” Vida pursed her lips. ”Toni isn't reliable, and a very poor judge of human nature. I wouldn't put much stock in what she said about Tiffany killing Tim. Still . . . the spouse is always the prime suspect.”

”Surely Milo's checked her alibi.”

”One a.s.sumes so.” Vida reflected for a moment. ”There were serious marital problems. Dot and Durwood hinted as much to me at the reception this morning.”

I nodded. ”Tiffany and Tim could live together, but a legal union spoiled the fun?”

”So it seems. Not to mention the responsibility involved. Of course,” Vida continued, removing the black hat and fluffing up her gray curls, ”the Parkers aren't the kind to talk about family matters.” She frowned, apparently at the virtue of discretion. ”But I could tell they weren't happy about their granddaughter's marriage. I got the impression-well, I've had it all along-that Tim was a very controlling sort of person. So protective, you know, which can indicate a much darker side, such as cutting Tiffany off from her friends and even family.”

”It sounds to me as if Tiffany should've considered having a baby on her own,” I remarked. ”Speaking from experience, I don't encourage it, but if she was that desperate, it might have been better.”

”Oh,” Vida said, waving a hand, ”she's the sort who'd have to have a man in her life somewhere. Very dependent, very needy. Unless . . .” She frowned. ”Unless she felt that the baby was all she needed to be complete.”

”That happens,” I said.

”It's Beth that worries me,” Vida said. ”She's not herself. Billy mentioned that the other day. Oh, she's keeping up a valiant front, but she's very troubled. I could scarcely get her to make eye contact while we were chatting over some lovely pilchard sandwiches.”

”How was her mother?”

Vida shook her head. ”Mrs. Rafferty just sat there in her wheelchair. She had no idea what was going on.”

”She's confined to a wheelchair in addition to having Alzheimer's?”

”Not completely,” Vida replied. ”She can walk a bit. Though that's part of the problem. She wanders off. So many Alzheimer's patients do, you know.”

”Yes.” At least twice a year we ran a story about some poor soul who had left a nursing home or even a private residence and disappeared, only to be found later, dead from hypothermia. A small town on the edge of the forest was a dangerous place. ”She wasn't aware of what was going on, I take it?”

”Not as far as I could tell,” Vida answered sadly. ”I greeted her when we got to the church hall, but she didn't seem to recognize me. All she said was, 'That hat. It's big. Like you.' ”

Frankly, that sounded fairly cogent to me. But it didn't mean that Mrs. Rafferty could identify the large person wearing the large hat.

I suggested that Vida use her clout with Bill Blatt to find out if Tiffany did indeed have an alibi. She agreed. ”Perhaps I could treat him to lunch if he can get away,” Vida said. ”Though I'm rather full. The pickled herring at the reception was delicious.”